Zitate von Henri Fréderic Amiel

Henri Fréderic Amiel Foto
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Henri Fréderic Amiel

Geburtstag: 27. September 1821
Todesdatum: 11. Mai 1881
Andere Namen:Fréderik Henri Amiel

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Henri-Frédéric Amiel war ein französischsprachiger Schweizer Schriftsteller und Philosoph.

Amiel war der erste Sohn des Kaufmanns Henri Amiel und Caroline Brandts. Nach dem Tod seiner Eltern wurde er im Alter von 13 Jahren von seinem Onkel Frédéric Amiel aufgenommen. Nach dem Antritt seiner Studien in Genf bereiste er die Schweiz, Italien, Frankreich und Belgien. In Deutschland hielt er sich zunächst neun Monate in Heidelberg auf; von 1844 bis 1848 lebte er in Berlin, wo er Philosophie , Psychologie sowie Philologie und Theologie studierte.

1849 kehrte er nach Genf zurück und wurde Professor für Ästhetik und französische Literatur an der Universität Genf dank einer Abhandlung über Du Mouvement littéraire dans la Suisse romande et de son avenir . Von 1854 bis zu seinem Tod hielt er zudem den Lehrstuhl für Philosophie.

Amiel publizierte mehrere Gedichtbände, historische und philologische Studien und philosophische Essays, die von der idealistischen deutschen Philosophie beeinflusst sind. Das populärste Werk, das er zu Lebzeiten veröffentlichte, war das patriotisch-militaristische Lied Roulez, tambours! .

Berühmt wurde Amiel mit seinem monumentalen Tagebuch , das man nach seinem Tod entdeckte. Die kurz danach publizierten Auszüge in zwei Bänden erregten großes Aufsehen wegen der Klarheit der Gedanken, der Aufrichtigkeit der Introspektion, der Genauigkeit der Einzelheiten, der entmutigenden Vision von Existenz und der Neigung zur Selbstkritik. Ende des 19. und Anfang des 20. Jahrhunderts beeinflussten die Tagebücher Schriftsteller in der Schweiz, aber auch anderswo in Europa .

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Zitate Henri Fréderic Amiel

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„Each bud flowers but once and each flower has but its minute of perfect beauty; so, in the garden of the soul each feeling has, as it were, its flowering instant, its one and only moment of expansive grace and radiant kingship.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: Each bud flowers but once and each flower has but its minute of perfect beauty; so, in the garden of the soul each feeling has, as it were, its flowering instant, its one and only moment of expansive grace and radiant kingship. Each star passes but once in the night through the meridian over our heads and shines there but an instant; so, in the heaven of the mind each thought touches its zenith but once, and in that moment all its brilliancy and all its greatness culminate. Artist, poet, or thinker, if you want to fix and immortalize your ideas or your feelings, seize them at this precise and fleeting moment, for it is their highest point. Before it, you have but vague outlines or dim presentiments of them. After it you will have only weakened reminiscence or powerless regret; that moment is the moment of your ideal. 30 December 1850

„Shakespeare must have experienced this feeling often, and Hamlet, I think, must express it somewhere.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: My privilege is to be spectator of my life drama, to be fully conscious of the tragi-comedy of my own destiny, and, more than that, to be in the secret of the tragi-comic itself, that is to say, to be unable to take my illusions seriously, to see myself, so to speak, from the theater on the stage, or to be like a man looking from beyond the tomb into existence. I feel myself forced to feign a particular interest in my individual part, while all the time I am living in the confidence of the poet who is playing with all these agents which seem so important, and knows all that they are ignorant of. It is a strange position, and one which becomes painful as soon as grief obliges me to betake myself once more to my own little rôle, binding me closely to it, and warning me that I am going too far in imagining myself, because of my conversations with the poet, dispensed from taking up again my modest part of valet in the piece. Shakespeare must have experienced this feeling often, and Hamlet, I think, must express it somewhere. It is a Doppelgängerei, quite German in character, and which explains the disgust with reality and the repugnance to public life, so common among the thinkers of Germany. There is, as it were, a degradation a gnostic fall, in thus folding one's wings and going back again into the vulgar shell of one's own individuality. Without grief, which is the string of this venturesome kite, man would soar too quickly and too high, and the chosen souls would be lost for the race, like balloons which, save for gravitation, would never return from the empyrean. 8 November 1852

„To learn new habits is everything, for it is to reach the substance of life. Life is but a tissue of habits.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: In the conduct of life, habits count for more than maxims, because habit is a living maxim, becomes flesh and instinct. To reform one's maxims is nothing: it is but to change the title of the book. To learn new habits is everything, for it is to reach the substance of life. Life is but a tissue of habits.

„Uncertainty is the refuge of hope.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: Uncertainty is the refuge of hope. — Amiel's journal; the Journal intime of Henri-Frédéric Amiel 1890 (p.368)

„There is nothing non-exclusive but the All; my end is communion with Being through the whole of Being.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: There is no repose for the mind except in the absolute; for feeling except in the infinite; for the soul except in the divine. Nothing finite is true, is interesting, is worthy to fix my attention. All that is particular is exclusive, and all that is exclusive repels me. There is nothing non-exclusive but the All; my end is communion with Being through the whole of Being.

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„I can find no words for what I feel.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: I can find no words for what I feel. My consciousness is withdrawn into itself; I hear my heart beating, and my life passing. It seems to me that I have become a statue on the banks of the river of time, that I am the spectator of some mystery, and shall issue from it old, or no longer capable of age.

„Action is but coarsened thought“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: The relation of thought to action filled my mind on waking, and I found myself carried toward a bizarre formula, which seems to have something of the night still clinging about it: Action is but coarsened thought; thought become concrete, obscure, and unconscious. It seemed to me that our most trifling actions, of eating, walking, and sleeping, were the condensation of a multitude of truths and thoughts, and that the wealth of ideas involved was in direct proportion to the commonness of the action (as our dreams are the more active, the deeper our sleep). We are hemmed round with mystery, and the greatest mysteries are contained in what we see and do every day. In all spontaneity the work of creation is reproduced in analogy. When the spontaneity is unconscious, you have simple action; when it is conscious, intelligent and moral action. 30 December 1850

„There is, as it were, a degradation a gnostic fall, in thus folding one's wings and going back again into the vulgar shell of one's own individuality. Without grief, which is the string of this venturesome kite, man would soar too quickly and too high, and the chosen souls would be lost for the race, like balloons which, save for gravitation, would never return from the empyrean.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: My privilege is to be spectator of my life drama, to be fully conscious of the tragi-comedy of my own destiny, and, more than that, to be in the secret of the tragi-comic itself, that is to say, to be unable to take my illusions seriously, to see myself, so to speak, from the theater on the stage, or to be like a man looking from beyond the tomb into existence. I feel myself forced to feign a particular interest in my individual part, while all the time I am living in the confidence of the poet who is playing with all these agents which seem so important, and knows all that they are ignorant of. It is a strange position, and one which becomes painful as soon as grief obliges me to betake myself once more to my own little rôle, binding me closely to it, and warning me that I am going too far in imagining myself, because of my conversations with the poet, dispensed from taking up again my modest part of valet in the piece. Shakespeare must have experienced this feeling often, and Hamlet, I think, must express it somewhere. It is a Doppelgängerei, quite German in character, and which explains the disgust with reality and the repugnance to public life, so common among the thinkers of Germany. There is, as it were, a degradation a gnostic fall, in thus folding one's wings and going back again into the vulgar shell of one's own individuality. Without grief, which is the string of this venturesome kite, man would soar too quickly and too high, and the chosen souls would be lost for the race, like balloons which, save for gravitation, would never return from the empyrean. 8 November 1852

„Christianity, if it is to triumph over pantheism, must absorb it.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: Christianity, if it is to triumph over pantheism, must absorb it. To our pusillanimous eyes Jesus would have borne the marks of a hateful pantheism, for he confirmed the Biblical phrase "ye are gods," and so would St. Paul, who tells us that we are of "the race of God." Our century wants a new theology — that is to say, a more profound explanation of the nature of Christ and of the light which it flashes upon heaven and upon humanity. 1 October 1849

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„Everything is a symbol of a symbol, and a symbol of what? of mind.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: Everything which is, is thought, but not conscious and individual thought. The human intelligence is but the consciousness of being. It is what I have formulated before: Everything is a symbol of a symbol, and a symbol of what? of mind. 30 December 1850

„We are hemmed round with mystery, and the greatest mysteries are contained in what we see and do every day.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: The relation of thought to action filled my mind on waking, and I found myself carried toward a bizarre formula, which seems to have something of the night still clinging about it: Action is but coarsened thought; thought become concrete, obscure, and unconscious. It seemed to me that our most trifling actions, of eating, walking, and sleeping, were the condensation of a multitude of truths and thoughts, and that the wealth of ideas involved was in direct proportion to the commonness of the action (as our dreams are the more active, the deeper our sleep). We are hemmed round with mystery, and the greatest mysteries are contained in what we see and do every day. In all spontaneity the work of creation is reproduced in analogy. When the spontaneity is unconscious, you have simple action; when it is conscious, intelligent and moral action. 30 December 1850

„Spite is anger which is afraid to show itself, it is an impotent fury conscious of its impotence.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: Spite is anger which is afraid to show itself, it is an impotent fury conscious of its impotence. (30 December 1850)

„I believe in goodness, and I hope that good will prevail.“

—  Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Context: My mind has been a tumult of opposing systems, — Stoicism, Quietism, Buddhism, Christianity. Shall I never be at peace with myself? If impersonality is a good, why am I not consistent in the pursuit of it? and if it is a temptation, why return to it, after having judged and conquered it? Is happiness anything more than a conventional fiction? The deepest reason for my state of doubt is that the supreme end and aim of life seems to me a mere lure and deception. The individual is an eternal dupe, who never obtains what he seeks, and who is forever deceived by hope. My instinct is in harmony with the pessimism of Buddha and of Schopenhauer. It is a doubt which never leaves me, even in my moments of religious fervor. Nature is indeed for me a Mala; and I look at her, as it were, with the eyes of an artist. My intelligence remains skeptical. What, then, do I believe in? I do not know. And what is it I hope for? It would be difficult to say. Folly! I believe in goodness, and I hope that good will prevail. Deep within this ironical and disappointed being of mine there is a child hidden — a frank, sad, simple creature, who believes in the ideal, in love, in holiness, and all heavenly superstitions. A whole millennium of idyls sleeps in my heart; I am a pseudo-skeptic, a pseudo-scoffer. 31 August 1869

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